Edelweiss
by Hrlyqin
Summary: It wasn't as if they were friends. They just roomed together at boarding school. But when John encounters Sherlock crying, he can't bring himself to just ignore it. A one shot.


**edelweiss**

It wasn't as if they were _**friends**_ or anything. John didn't really know his roommate well enough to say he was anything more than a roommate, and with the airs that Sherlock put on, it was pretty clear he wasn't interested in socializing. But John's big failing, according to his Dad at least, was that he had too damn big of a heart. So when he came across the other boy, who he may have been roomed up with this term, but who certainly wasn't his friend, crying in the locker room, he couldn't just turn away.

It had been a particularly brutal session of phys ed that day, the sadistic instructor had insisted they run laps in the pouring rain. The end of term was coming and everyone had been studying like mad for exams, so it was a wet day full of boys in a miserable temper. Even still, John hadn't seen or heard anything in particular that would have set Sherlock off to crying.

There was the normal stuff, of course. Sherlock got teased over his pale, spindly limbs and the fact that he always had the answer whenever the teacher asked (and sometimes when the teacher didn't). He also had this haughty way that just set the other boys off. John had wondered many times why Sherlock just didn't shut up and keep more to himself, it would certainly make life easier. So there had been an assortment of black eyes, detention slips and nasty pranks, but never ever _**this**_...

"Um..." No this was dumb, maybe he should just leave him alone. "Are you okay there?"

"Fine." Sherlock stiffened up. He clearly had not been aware that John was there. The rest of the class had already finished their showers and headed off.

"Are you sure?" John asked.

"Yes. Fine."

"Cause you don't look it."

"**I'm. Fine. John.** Thank you for your concern."

He had all but shoved John away with his biting words. "Alright then."

John made it five steps towards the door before his damnable big heart kicked in again and with a sigh, he turned back to the other boy. Without invitation, he went and sat next to him on the bench. This was the closest he had ever been to his roommate. John could see now that he had been crying for awhile, his eyes were red and his cheeks looked raw from it. Whatever he was, he certainly wasn't fine.

Damnable big heart. Always making him care about things he shouldn't.

John sighed. "Look, I can clearly see you're not fine. So if you want to talk about it, talk. If you don't, well, I'm just going to sit here for a bit. Hope you don't mind."

He sat. And he waited. He had plenty of time to think about how stupid this was. Sherlock Holmes had been his roommate since term started and they had barely spoken a dozen sentences to each other. At first John had tried to reach out, figuring that it was tough to be a new student and Sherlock's abrasive, off-putting personality must be just nerves. John had quickly figured out that no, it was just his actual personality. From then on, the invitations stopped and the short quips about wrong answers on homework began. No, he certainly wasn't _**friends **_with Sherlock.

Yet here he sat.

"They took my clothes." Sherlock finally sat.

"What?" John had been so lost in his own thoughts that he hadn't really heard him when he spoke at last.

"They took my clothes. I always take them in to the shower stall with me and set them on the shelf. I'm very careful about it. It's so I needn't...expose myself unnecessarily." John had at first not heard him because he hadn't been paying attention, but now he could barely hear him because he was speaking so low.

He didn't say anything else. But surely it must have took courage or...or trust even, to say that much. John didn't want to muck that up with asking stupid questions, so he tried to just think about Sherlock's statement and figure it out for himself.

Sherlock was so shy or body conscious that he felt the need to take his clothes into the shower stall with him so he didn't have to change in front of others. There was a little curtained area with a shelf just outside the shower itself, so it wasn't impossible but it seemed really impractical and difficult to both with if it wasn't important. Why would it be so important?

Now that he considered it, John had never before seen Sherlock undressed in any way. The most he could say was that he liked to go barefoot, but he was always fully clothed whenever John was around. He changed for bed in the bathroom. Got dressed for the morning there too. John couldn't believe how oblivious he was to it until now.

Through his quiet weeping, Sherlock laughed a little bit. "Oh believe it. People only see what they want to see, after all."

"I...I-what? Sorry. What? Did I say that out loud?"

"Aloud." Sherlock corrected. "No, you didn't say it aloud. But it's written on your face. You're starting to figure it out."

"I-" John started again, but found he couldn't finish. That really just pissed him off. He was here trying to help and Sherlock had to go being all superior about things. "I don't need any help working it out, thanks. I'm doing just fine on my own." He snapped. This situation was unbe-fucking-leivable.

"Well then I'm all ears. What's my secret, John Watson?"

He should just go. He had shit to do. He had a date later. But he couldn't now. He not only felt like he had encountered what might be a wounded animal lashing out at someone wanting to help it, but he also just wanted to pass Sherlock's fucking little test. It was a test. He was testing him. At a time like this. He steeled himself up then stared at the other boy, trying to take in every detail and figure. Him. Out.

Once he saw it, by god, it was obvious.

And once he saw it, he didn't feel vindicated or righteous. He wasn't even angry anymore. His realization instead struck him with a horrible sort of pain. It was all he could do not to start crying himself.

"Sherlock," he asked carefully, "were you...born a boy?"

A dry laugh. The terrible sort of chuckle you get at car accidents. "Bravo, Watson. No, I was assigned female at birth. Clearly a mistake on their part."

"You've had surgery recently." The truth of Sherlock's gender was not what had been obvious. In fact, he made a wonderfully handsome man, as much as John could think other men were handsome. What had been so clear to him were the telltale signs on his body of corrective reassignment.

A scar starting below his armpit and running along his underarm were a skin graft had been taken. That would be what they used...down below, John thought. He would blush furiously if he even thought the word 'penis'. There was also a slight puckering around the nipples where the fatty breast tissue had been excised.

"They say the puffiness will go down in time." Sherlock said, touching them.

John was at a loss for what to say. "Um...real good job they did, it looks like. The scars will be barely noticeable. I don't know what...er, I mean, I don't know how much work the doctors had to do but I could never tell, if I wasn't looking for it...oh God, I'm sorry. I'm just going to shut up now, okay?"

"That would probably be best."

John tried to think of something supportive, and less stupid, to say while Sherlock examined his nails. After a bit, it was Holmes who spoke again. "I suppose I'll have to switch schools again now. Father would simply die if he knew the secret was out."

"I won't say anything." John replied immediately, to which the other boy snorted.

"Oh yes you promise that now, but, you will." The venom slipping in to his voice was frightening. "Everyone always says they love you and they'll keep your secrets. Friends. Therapists. _Brothers_. But they never do. **People always tell**."

That right there pissed him off again. Sherlock seemed to have this fantastic way of making him run the gamut of emotions. Right now he felt empathy, and sympathy, and sorrow, but also an amazing amount of anger. Sod this. He stood up. Sherlock seemed to expect him to stalk off now, and he was going to, but not before surprising him.

Sherlock was not one who was often surprised.

"I'm guessing the fact you're sulking in here instead of being pelted with shoes or in the fist fight to end all fist fights means you hid in the shower while the others laughed until everyone else left." John said...well...shouted really. "So no one else bloody saw anything but me. If that is the case then today is your lucky day, because I am not _people. _I'm John Hamish Watson. Don't expect me to act like _people_ because right now, I don't really think all that much of them." he finished a bit lamely. John didn't usually have outbursts like that. He wasn't sure if he should punch something now. Sherlock was staring at him.

His voice was quieter when he continued. "Look, I know we don't really know each other, and you have no reason to believe me, but I really won't say anything. I promise. I can't imagine the type of person that would, except to say I wouldn't like them very much. Now I've got my spare soccer kit in my bag, if you want to wear it back to the dorms. It won't fit very well, but it's better than sitting here all day."

Sherlock nodded. "Good idea."

"Okay, let me grab it."

John got the somewhat wrinkly and a little bit stale shorts and tee from his bag and gave them to Sherlock, who changed back in the shower stall. John was curious, about what other scars and marks there might be, but he wouldn't ask. If Sherlock wanted to tell him, that would be okay. But he wouldn't ask.

Sherlock emerged in John's clothes, looking completely silly but dressed at least. "I've seen worse." John joked. Sherlock smiled a little. "So you're wearing my clothes. Does that make us friends now?"

The smile disappeared. "You don't **have** to be friends with me out of pity, John."

"Did I say anything about pity? I just happen to think you're probably the most interesting fellow around here."

"Really?" Sherlock asked, sounding mistrustful.

"Anyone who changes in the shower because he's got some weird skin condition is bound to be interesting."

"Skin cond-ah, yes. My skin condition. Quite tragic."

"And if you ever want to talk, you know, about your skin condition, I'm happy to listen. It's not anything to be embarrassed over."

"Quit while you're ahead, John."

"Sorry."

Sherlock started walking and John fell into step with him. Soon the two emerged out into the gray daylight and soggy puddles of the school grounds. "What class should you be attending right now?" Sherlock asked.

"Um...geometry." John made a face. Not his favorite.

"No one will miss you there, that's for sure." John tried anything and everything to avoid attention in any class involving math. "I'm going to slip in to something more comfortable," they both chuckled, "then head out to town. I hear there's this great Chinese place on Chimsey Street."

John knew that the other boys skipped out sometimes. What with it being a Friday, everyone would be hitting the town as soon as they could anyway. But he was never one of those boys. He hoped Sherlock would be safe with those boys, considering all that had happened.

"Do you know how you tell a good Chinese restaurant from a bad one?" Sherlock asked him.

"No. It's never really come up."

"Well, come on. I'll show you."


End file.
